


A Bad Habit of Interfering

by Smiley5494



Series: Author's Favourites [13]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Baby Tooth (Rise of the Guardians), BAMF Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood), Canon Divergence - Antarctica Scene (Rise of the Guardians), Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Presumed Dead, Whump, anyway onto the tags, correct me if im wrong, he is already but i just had to tag it, i think i have the right characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:40:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smiley5494/pseuds/Smiley5494
Summary: There was something so unexpected, and yet surprisingly appropriate, in how Pitch was winning—picking each of them off one by one, from the most powerful to the least.He’d gone after Sandy first, taking him down through sheer numbers. Sandy would’ve been able to beat him, could’ve done it easily if he hadn’t been surrounded and facing attacks from multiple sides. If it weren’t for the nightmares that Pitch had taken, Sandy would’ve won.It seemed almost fitting that the next to be taken was Jack Frost.Or:What if Pitch took Jack’s staff to the Guardians when he snapped it?
Relationships: Baby Tooth & Jack Frost, E. Aster Bunnymund & Nicholas St. North & Sanderson Mansnoozie & Toothiana, Jamie Bennett & Jack Frost
Series: Author's Favourites [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966441
Comments: 13
Kudos: 239
Collections: Read





	A Bad Habit of Interfering

“The staff, Jack!” Pitch ordered, his eyes alight with the potential for pain, “You have a bad habit of interfering. Now hand it over, and I’ll let her go.”

Pitch could see the other’s indecisiveness, could see the way he looked towards Baby Tooth and back to his staff. He could see the way Jack was easily swayed by the promise of Baby Tooth’s safety.

Jack closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped, and Pitch knew he had him. He swung his staff around and held it out for Pitch to take. The instance he touched the staff, the frost covering it vanished. It felt dead in his hand, the residue magic cold and painful.

“All right,” Jack said, clearly uncomfortable, “Now let her go.”

Pitch smiled, it was a cold and cruel smile and shook his head slightly.

“No.” The look on Jack’s face and the fear Pitch could feel coming off him, was something Pitch would cherish. “You said you wanted to be alone. So _be alone!”_

Baby Tooth apparently took offence to the declaration and she stabbed him with her beak, it hurt—more than he could remember anything hurting, except for his fight with Sandy—and he flung her far away, watching with a not so little amount of satisfaction as she hit the cliff-face and fell out of sight.

Jack snarled, turning as though to lunge at Pitch, but before he could do anything, Pitch brought the staff down over his knee. He’d known it was going to be painful, the staff acted as an extension of Jack’s body, a focus for his power, but it still brought him some measure of triumph to physically _see_ the pain written on his face.

Still, Jack looked like he would power through the pain, and Pitch brought his hand up in a dismissive wave and tossed Jack into the same cliff as he had Baby Tooth. Jack hit the cliff and fell, barely conscious.

It brought Pitch a measure of joy he hadn’t felt since the Dark Ages and he stalked forwards, intending on drawing the torment out as long as he possibly could.

The staff was in two and Jack was on the ground deep in the chasm.

Pitch watched the other spirit tremble in pain and shock before he picked up the two pieces of the staff. Jack _keened_ , reaching a shaking hand out for the staff, but Pitch just laughed instead.

There were better things that could be done with the staff.

The Guardians would break knowing that Pitch had beaten another spirit—especially considering just how powerful Jack was compared to them. Jack, who was not gaining power from belief because _no one_ believed in him. Unlike the other Guardians, his power was generated only from himself and the natural elements—wild, untamed, and _so very finite_.

“You bastard.” Jack spat when Pitch danced out of his reach, the staff still clutched tightly in his hands.

“Oh don’t be like _that_!” Pitched answered brightly; he had basically won, now that both Jack and Sandy were defeated. Dead and gone—or as good as, in Jack’s case. Without his staff, Jack’s power was limited to his own body, and the human body couldn’t sustain that; not even a living body could, and Jack had been dead for centuries.

“Give it back, Pitch, you’ve already destroyed it—I won’t be coming back from this.” Jack tried again, but his attempt at climbing the cliff face was halted by the way he was too weak to stand.

“That’s the plan, Jack,” Pitch laughed and turned his back on the prone form of a kindred spirit. Defeating the Guardians was worth the disappointment of losing someone just like him.

* * *

They were getting weaker.

Guardians—and spirits in general—drew their power from belief. Every person who believed added more energy into the Guardians, and in turn they protected each person. It was a cycle that had stood true and stable for centuries, and now Pitch was hell-bent on destroying it.

Tooth watched in horror as Pitch loomed over the three remaining Guardians. They were weak enough already—losing Easter had nearly taken Bunny entirely—and Tooth didn’t think they would survive another encounter.

Especially, she noted, as Pitch carried Jack’s staff.

Jack’s _broken_ staff.

It was snapped clean in two and there was not a single bit of frost decorating the side. Tooth stumbled forwards, her heart in her throat but Pitch just laughed and held the staff in front of her. He dropped it on the ground and it clattered, bouncing away from them. North met Tooth’s eyes and she could see her own terror reflected at her.

“I want to thank you all,” Pitch said, slowly and silkily, dangerous on a level he had never quite reached before, “If you hadn’t driven Jack Frost away, I would not have managed to beat him.”

“You—you _bastard!"_ North snapped, reaching for the staff, but Pitch just held it away.

"He said that too," Pitch laughed, "you lot are more similar than I had thought.”

There was something so unexpected, and yet surprisingly appropriate, in how Pitch was winning—picking each of them off one by one, from the most powerful to the least.

He’d gone after Sandy first, taking him down through sheer numbers. Sandy would’ve been able to beat him, could’ve done it easily if he hadn’t been surrounded and facing attacks from multiple sides. If it weren’t for the nightmares that Pitch had taken, Sandy would’ve won.

It seemed almost fitting that the next to be taken was Jack Frost.

"Is he dead?” Tooth asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of her thoughts and the pounding of her heart. The staff lay forgotten, Pitch was a far bigger and more immediate problem than Jack’s staff.

“By now? He won’t be interfering again.” Pitch replied, his smirk just as dangerous as his voice. Tooth shared another scared look with North. Jack had been their only hope, despite how young he was compared to the rest of them; Jack and those final persistent, _powerful_ lights. Now, with Jack gone, there were only those few remaining lights.

They _had_ to win. It would mean the end of everything if they didn’t.

* * *

Jack was cold in a way he hadn’t been since he died. It was the sort of cold that bit deep into his very core and froze his blood. It was the sort of cold that left him tired and weary—ready to slip into sleep and just never wake up.

Baby Tooth wouldn’t let him, though, and she pricked him with her beak to keep him aware of his surroundings. She too was shivering, and it was with a pang of crushing guilt and disappointment that Jack realised he couldn’t keep her warm.

His whole body ached, both from where Pitch had snapped his staff in two, and from exhaustion and cold. He was still shaking, but he couldn't tell whether it was from the cold or the residual aftershocks of Pitch's attack.

“I’m sorry, Baby Tooth,” Jack whispered as she sneezed, “I can only make you colder. I’m sure you hate me for getting you caught in the first place.”

She didn’t seem to mind the cold emanating from him as she crawled into his pocket. She certainly didn’t seem to mind his presence as she activated the tooth container and showed him his memories.

They washed over him, unlocking emotions and attachments that had been long since forgotten. Jack hated how the people in the visions had faces he didn’t recognise; he had a sister—even if she had been dead for centuries—and he hated how he didn’t remember her name, how he didn’t remember her face.

He didn’t remember how she looked when she was content, he didn’t remember the way she fell asleep. He didn’t remember what she liked or disliked.

That didn’t stop him from feeling the excitement of knowing that she existed. The excitement at learning that he had saved her life fuelled him, filled him with power. For the first time since his staff had been snapped, he felt whole.

Jack closed his eyes, Baby Tooth looking on in pride, and he reached for his staff. It was an extension of himself and despite being broken, it still contained some of his power. It was through that power that he called the winds to his favour, called them to pick up his staff and carry it back to him.

He only hoped that it worked.

* * *

_Everyone knows that the Winds pick favourites._

_They have the souls they hate, and they have the souls they love. The Winds deliver on their promises and offer favours to those in need. They give and they take, and they love._

_The Winds pick favourites, and Jack Frost is one of them._

_He gives them love and favours and they return in kind. He talks to them as if they were a best friend to him, and he never expects an answer. So when the Winds hear his calls, they leap to his command and fulfil his wishes._

_Jack Frost asks only for the pieces of his staff and gives the Winds the love and reverence they desire in return. He asks for so little, and the Winds give so much._

_Everyone knows the Winds pick favourites, but there are none more favoured than Jack Frost._

* * *

The Winds deposit the pieces of his staff in the snow in front of him. Jack picked them up, still running on adrenaline and the residue contentment the memories had given him. Instead of slowly killing him, as it had been before, the ice and snow revitalised him, giving him power.

He held the staff in front of him and drew on the power that surrounded him to heal. The staff glowed, and even as it drained his energy, he persisted.

Baby Tooth chirped by his ear, calling encouragement in the ways she knew best, and he collapsed, finally spent. The staff rolled onto the snow, fully whole once more. The frost that usually decorated it was absent; and where it _was_ actually there, it was hardly visible. Baby Tooth poked his cheek and urged him to get up—she was impatient and resolute and Jack thanked both her and the Winds profusely.

He flew, Baby Tooth safe in his pocket, and danced in the sky along with the winds. It felt like freedom and peace, and he felt only relief at being in the sky again. He landed lightly outside Pitch’s lair and slid back down the tunnel, intent on freeing the rest of Baby Tooth’s siblings.

What he found, instead, was thousands of little flightless baby teeth and a single remaining light.

* * *

Jamie Bennett was a faithful boy. He knew what he had seen—he _knew_ it, he _truly_ did—but he couldn’t help but believe his friends when they told him it was only a dream.

That faltering belief was what brought him to the moment where he sat on his bed, held his stuffed bunny in his hands, and begged for a response. Logically, Jamie knew that the Easter Bunny was probably busy—he was one child in a world of millions. He still hoped, and wished, and _believed_ in a response.

That response came in a frost-covered window and an egg drawn on.

Jamie’s eyes widened in surprise and shock and he glanced at the bunny on his floor. The crackling of frost drew his attention back to the window and he stood on his bed to get eye level with the next drawing.

This time, a bunny, was the drawing created. It didn’t stop there, however, and Jamie watched in awe as the bunny came to life, bounding around the air in his room high above his head. It exploded in a puff and snow— _snow_ —fell from the area it had vanished.

Snow indoors wasn’t what Jamie had expected, and unbidden the memory of his mother telling him of Jack Frost came to mind. Jack Frost; a mischievous spirit that brought snow and winter. A single snowflake landed on his nose and he felt almost certain that this _was_ Jack Frost.

“Jack Frost.” He said it unconsciously, his mouth working on a different wave-length to his brain. There was a slight whisper in the breeze, a small, _‘did he just say…’_ That Jamie couldn’t be sure he actually heard. It was enough, however, to confirm his suspicions and he asked, “Jack Frost?”

This time he was sure he heard words— _‘he said it again. He said… You said…’_ —and turned, only to come face-to-face with a white-haired teen who appeared only a few years older than he was. Awe filled him, he’d known that he hadn’t seen anyone there before, but there Jack Frost was!

“Jack Frost!” Jamie repeated, unable to say anything else. The spirit seemed just as awed as Jamie felt, equally as surprised. Jamie didn’t see why, but he supposed it had to do with _Jamie_.

“That’s right!” Jack said, and he moved continuously, nervous and amazed in equal measures. “But that’s _me_! Jack Frost! That’s my name! You said my name!”

He stopped and stared at Jamie, just as Jamie was staring at him.

“Wait.” He sounded surprised and the slightest bit nervous. “Can you hear me?”

Jamie nodded, and Jack spoke again, “Can—can you _see_ me?”

When Jamie nodded again, Jack laughed. It was a startled laugh, surprised, “He sees me! He sees me!”

Then, to Jamie’s amazement, he did a _backflip_ , a full-on backflip, and landed lightly on Jamie’s desk. Jamie found it amazing how awe-stricken Jack seemed to be, all because of a kid who could see him.

“You just made it snow. In my room!”

“I know!”

“You’re real?” It came out more questioning than Jamie liked, but Jack didn’t seem to notice, more invested in someone who could see him.

“Yeah!” By now they were both nearly yelling, and Jamie had to quiet down in case his parents heard. “Who do you think brings you all the blizzards and the snow days? And you remember when you went flying on that sled, the other day?”

“That way you?”

“That was me!”

* * *

Jack looked on in amazement as Jamie spoke to his mother, all the while glancing over to Jack, as though afraid he would disappear. Jack was partially afraid, himself, that he would disappear and Jamie wouldn’t be able to see him.

A crash of thunder startled both of them and drew the conversation to a close. Jack led the way to the window, but Jamie wasn’t about to be left behind. Jack stared at the sky, where Pitch seemed to be warming up, or at least until the crash of North’s sleigh into the asphalt drew his attention. Jack drew back, he remembered all to clearly the way they had turned on him, suspected him of purposeful sabotage.

Jamie grinned up at him obviously amazed at the arrival of so many spirits, and Jack didn’t have the heart to tell him why he wasn’t happy at the Guardians’ appearance. It was because of that when Jamie pulled him down the stairs and out onto the steps, Jack didn’t resist. He didn’t resist until they got outside, and only then did he hold back, letting Jamie run forward to greet the Guardians.

Jack watched as each of the Guardians pat Jamie on the arm, clearly testing to see if they could still touch him, and as Jamie pulled them into hugs and conversation. He hung back, clutching his staff close to his chest and waited.

He knew that the Guardians would eventually see him, or Jamie would eventually mention him, but he wanted to avoid that reality for as long as he could.

* * *

Tooth clung to Jamie in a way she couldn’t remember ever clinging to anyone. This boy, this last faithful child, was now the only human she could touch, and that knowledge _hurt_. Tooth’s heart went out to Jack, wherever he had died, he had died alone, never knowing what it was like to touch a human who truly believed. He would have died never knowing what it was like to _be_ believed in, and that knowledge made Tooth close her eyes and send all the love and hope she could to Jamie.

Jamie was their last hope, and she, Bunny, and North all were aware of that. They’d lost so much—both from Pitch’s attacks and their own stupidity. They’d turned Jack away, even while knowing that he was the youngest of them all, knowing that he had had no one to guide him.

They’d turned him away, and now he was dead.

“You still believe?” North asked, sounding more humble than Tooth could ever remember him being. “In _all_ of us?”

Jamie nodded sagely, “I nearly didn’t, but then Jack helped me believe.”

The name pierced something deep down inside of Tooth, and she wiped away a tear.

“Jack?” North seemed to be on the same wavelength as her, and they shared a look over Jamie’s head.

“Yeah!” Jamie replied, completely missing the sombre mood that had taken over, “Jack Frost! He’s just over there.”

Tooth and North followed Jamie’s pointing finger, and Tooth’s heart stopped. There, on the steps, watching with barely-hidden jealousy was _Jack Frost_. Jack Frost, alive and whole, no broken staff. Tooth let go of Jamie and launched herself at Jack—she stumbled and fell a few times but he caught her easily.

“Jack!” She cried, sobbing openly and freely, “Jack we’re so sorry—Pitch said you were dead—your staff—it was _broken_!”

“Tooth—” Jack started, and Baby Tooth flew from his pocked to cling to her feathers. Tooth’s heart broke all over again as she saw what must have happened. They’d blamed Jack for trading Baby Tooth for his memories, so he must have gone to get the little one back. He must’ve known where they were being kept if he had found his memories, and Pitch must’ve been expecting him. It would’ve been easy to overpower Jack when the youngest thought he was all alone and hated.

Tooth couldn’t express how sorry she was, how thankful she was for Jack’s easy-going forgiving nature. If he hadn’t been so cheerful and so fun, he would possibly have been tempted to _join_ Pitch, and who knew where they would have been then.

It didn’t matter. The past was the past, and she couldn’t change or manipulate that, no matter how much she tried. Jack was here, Jack was alive, and there was a child who _believed in him_. That alone was a matter to celebrate; a cause for hope and joy.

* * *

Pitch was secure in the knowledge that he had won.

It was just a matter of picking off the remaining Guardians one by one and striking down the last believer. A simple matter—barely worth mentioning, it would be easy now that the strongest were down. Sandy went first; the one who could beat him at his own game. Then Jack, who could beat him in raw power.

Losing Easter would have taken a huge toll on Bunny, and Pitch was certain he would be easy to defeat. With Bunny defeated, he would go for North next, and finally onto Tooth. One by one, the Guardians would be destroyed and Pitch would be the most powerful spirit out there. Pitch would take the Guardians’ throne and rule in his own right.

Before he could do any of that, however, he had to _obliterate_ this persistent and stubborn light; he had to destroy the Guardians with what gave them power. The children would no longer believe in dreams or hope or wonder or _fun_ , they would only believe in fear and Pitch himself.

Pitch stood on his cloud of nightmare dust and glowered down at the Guardians. They were standing just behind the last child, and Pitch could taste their fear. It was the best thing he had ever tasted, the most delectable thing ever, and Pitch wanted _more_. He wanted the Guardians dying, their terror coating the world, and not a single believing child left. He wanted the terror of millions to grant him power.

His gaze fell on Jack Frost and fury welled up within him. The boy was meant to be dead—he’d been dying when Pitch had left him, and he hadn’t had the pieces of his staff anywhere near him. There was no one to give him power—the Guardians had abandoned him and no child believed in him—so there was no way Jack should’ve survived.

Jack launched himself at Pitch and the two clashed in a midair battle that left Pitch breathless. Jack had raw power, yes, but Pitch had more believers. The Guardians were losing their power and Pitch was gaining his.

“You should be dead!” Pitch yelled, his fury growing with every breath Jack took.

“Well I’m still kicking, no thanks to you!” Jack yelled back, and Pitch channelled his fury into a huge blast that tossed Jack into an alleyway.

One way or another, he promised the Man in the Moon, Pitch _would_ win.

**Author's Note:**

> and we all know what happens next :)
> 
> this idea has been living in my head rent-free since i watched the movie for the first time, and now it's finally written down to share with all of you lovely readers. I _may_ (emphasis on may) write a similar oneshot which doesn't have a happy ending, but that all depends on my thought process.
> 
> The bit about the memories being forgotten was inspired by [stella's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellaisnotamermaid/pseuds/stellaisnotamermaid) story, _"Blonde Hair, Strong Build, Blue Eyes"_ , which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27719756)


End file.
